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Authors: Andrei Bitov
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gone, but he still has a body. And so, having wandered the whole night through, shivering and hungry, he finds himself standing at the abandoned woman’s door, unable to decide whether or not to ring the bell. Suddenly the door opens of its own accord. She is not at all surprised that he has returned. She expected him. Dinner is still warm …
“I thought I had returned to pick up the manuscript. How much time had passed? Three days? Three years? I felt my face blazing with fire, I was covered in perspiration. It wasn’t shame, or pain, or fear, or pangs of conscience, or repentance … It was … There are no words for the sense of irreparable damage I felt, and felt I had caused. ‘Dika!’ I screamed, and started running.
“The lock didn’t fit the key, the door opened in the wrong direction … and there was no Dika. Everything was pristine and empty. It was more empty than when Dika simply wasn’t home. The parrot was gone, too. The cage was empty—that was it. Three days? Three years? I groped around on the table, searching for a note. The blinds were pulled, and there was no light to see by. My hand couldn’t find the switch … Finally, there was light. The note shook my hands, the lines veered past my gaze. I put it back on the table, on the exact spot where it had lain, and, gripping the edge to steady myself, I made out the words: Jacko flew away. I went to look for him. The porridge is on the stove. Love, E . This should have reassured me, but it didn’t. ‘Three days? Three years?’ I mumbled, circling the room. I brushed up against a pile of books and knocked them over. They spilled and spilled, and scattered about like oatmeal flakes. ‘Porridge!’ I exclaimed, and rushed over to the stove. The porridge was still warm! It couldn’t have stayed warm for three days, much less three years. Time contracted violently, like a living thing, like a heart. I should have felt reassured by all of this, but I didn’t. Time contracted to today, to this moment, to a point, and then stopped, like a heart. A needle, finer than the sliver of an instant, pierced my heart like time. I closed my eyes and imagined I saw the chair, the one from our first night, with a pile of folded clothes on it, like the clothes of one recently deceased. I opened my eyes in alarm—the chair was empty. And, still, my heart wasn’t beating.
“Then I rushed like a madman in the direction of the Zoological Gardens. Why the zoo? I don’t really know how to explain it. I was certain she was there, that’s all. It was only later that I was able to imagine how it must have been … How she waited and waited for me … How she forgot to lock the cage … How it grew stuffy in the room and she opened the window … How suddenly, with the ineluctability of insight, she understood that I was gone and wasn’t coming back, understood because Jacko had flown away … How she rushed after the parrot, as though rushing in pursuit of me … How she dashed through the streets, crying, ‘Jacko! Jacko! Have you seen my parrot?’
“What came next? An automobile? A streetcar? ‘No! No!’ I screamed as I ran. The conjecture gripped me so suddenly that I was absolutely certain, just as she had been when she realized in her despair: Of course, Jacko had flown away to find his OWN! Where else? So she ran, joyfully, almost flying, gasping with happiness that he was there, in the zoo. Where else could he have gone…?
“For the hundredth time she combed the Zoological Gardens—oh, that overpopulated desert where there was no Jacko! ‘My dear! My dear! Please come back!’ she called. But he wasn’t there. His absence seemed to grow. Little fool! What a little fool you are, Dika! You can’t find him; he can only return to you. He’s sure to return! He’s flying home already … Dika! It’s me! I’ve come after you … Where are you? Dika wasn’t there. Suddenly I saw a crowd, a small crowd, on the edge of the park where the
“I thought I had returned to pick up the manuscript. How much time had passed? Three days? Three years? I felt my face blazing with fire, I was covered in perspiration. It wasn’t shame, or pain, or fear, or pangs of conscience, or repentance … It was … There are no words for the sense of irreparable damage I felt, and felt I had caused. ‘Dika!’ I screamed, and started running.
“The lock didn’t fit the key, the door opened in the wrong direction … and there was no Dika. Everything was pristine and empty. It was more empty than when Dika simply wasn’t home. The parrot was gone, too. The cage was empty—that was it. Three days? Three years? I groped around on the table, searching for a note. The blinds were pulled, and there was no light to see by. My hand couldn’t find the switch … Finally, there was light. The note shook my hands, the lines veered past my gaze. I put it back on the table, on the exact spot where it had lain, and, gripping the edge to steady myself, I made out the words: Jacko flew away. I went to look for him. The porridge is on the stove. Love, E . This should have reassured me, but it didn’t. ‘Three days? Three years?’ I mumbled, circling the room. I brushed up against a pile of books and knocked them over. They spilled and spilled, and scattered about like oatmeal flakes. ‘Porridge!’ I exclaimed, and rushed over to the stove. The porridge was still warm! It couldn’t have stayed warm for three days, much less three years. Time contracted violently, like a living thing, like a heart. I should have felt reassured by all of this, but I didn’t. Time contracted to today, to this moment, to a point, and then stopped, like a heart. A needle, finer than the sliver of an instant, pierced my heart like time. I closed my eyes and imagined I saw the chair, the one from our first night, with a pile of folded clothes on it, like the clothes of one recently deceased. I opened my eyes in alarm—the chair was empty. And, still, my heart wasn’t beating.
“Then I rushed like a madman in the direction of the Zoological Gardens. Why the zoo? I don’t really know how to explain it. I was certain she was there, that’s all. It was only later that I was able to imagine how it must have been … How she waited and waited for me … How she forgot to lock the cage … How it grew stuffy in the room and she opened the window … How suddenly, with the ineluctability of insight, she understood that I was gone and wasn’t coming back, understood because Jacko had flown away … How she rushed after the parrot, as though rushing in pursuit of me … How she dashed through the streets, crying, ‘Jacko! Jacko! Have you seen my parrot?’
“What came next? An automobile? A streetcar? ‘No! No!’ I screamed as I ran. The conjecture gripped me so suddenly that I was absolutely certain, just as she had been when she realized in her despair: Of course, Jacko had flown away to find his OWN! Where else? So she ran, joyfully, almost flying, gasping with happiness that he was there, in the zoo. Where else could he have gone…?
“For the hundredth time she combed the Zoological Gardens—oh, that overpopulated desert where there was no Jacko! ‘My dear! My dear! Please come back!’ she called. But he wasn’t there. His absence seemed to grow. Little fool! What a little fool you are, Dika! You can’t find him; he can only return to you. He’s sure to return! He’s flying home already … Dika! It’s me! I’ve come after you … Where are you? Dika wasn’t there. Suddenly I saw a crowd, a small crowd, on the edge of the park where the
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